


Thus Strangely are Our Souls Constructed

by joliemariella



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Hank, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Existential Crisis, Family Feels, Gen, Human to android, Not shipping - Freeform, welcome to the long dark teatime of the soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joliemariella/pseuds/joliemariella
Summary: When Hank dies unexpectedly in the year 2054, Connor is left broken and grieving at the loss of his father. Perhaps even more unexpected, however, is Elijah Kamski's presence at Hank's funeral, and the offer he makes Connor as they stand together among the graves: his father back in exchange for his help attaining immortality.Hank had always warned Connor about deals with the devil... but that doesn't stop him from making one anyways.





	1. The beginning is a quick and brutal end

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the fic! So I wrote this as a oneshot and it grew into a 45 page monstrosity because this is my life now, I hope you enjoy! Things get pretty emotional and existential over the course of the story. Atheists discuss the nature of the human soul, though there's no religion bashing. Please don't come at me with your own religious beliefs, man, it's just fanfic and I actually _am_ an atheist anyways, so I really don't care XD You do you and leave me be.
> 
> Make sure to leave a comment and let me know what your favorite part is, and maybe I'll consider doing some bonus chapters eventually!  
> You can also follow me over at [my art/writing tumblr](https://joliecreates.tumblr.com/) or [pillowfort](https://pillowfort.io/JolieMariella) for fanart and other writing of mine!

Sixteen years changed the world more than anyone who lived through the android revolution of 2038 would have ever thought, let alone hoped for in the wake of so much chaos and hatred.

Markus’ peaceful methods had eventually won the day and after a longer, arguably more difficult battle on the political front that spanned years in the courts of Washington D.C., androids were granted full equal rights with humans. The movement was more popular with mankind than even Markus had dared to hope, and despite the upheavals it caused in the economy and the violent objections of traditionalists across the country, the USA took an important step forward into the future, dragging the rest of the world with it.

The economy rebounded faster than any expert could have predicted, which helped the rest of the country come to terms with the new sociological changes sweeping the nation. It turned out that having over one hundred and twenty million new minds capable of functioning at levels beyond a human’s all turned towards the single task of improving the world around them was a hell of a force to be reckoned with.

Even in 2054, though, the world was far from perfect. There was still grumbling from traditionalists for whom the world was moving too quickly, though it moved regardless. Making sure that society didn’t take two steps back after finally making a small step forward was a constant battle that kept Markus and his people on their toes.

Slow as the advancement of social justice was, the growth of technology moved in leaps and bounds that continued to astonish even androidkind.

Elijah Kamski had returned to head up CyberLife at the company’s own behest in the wake of the revolution, and he had promised to take it in an all new direction for the benefit of all. Rather than making androids, the company began to cater to them, and also created new devices that allowed for better integration of android and human society.

The Neural Network Device had been, hands down, the most important technological advancement to come out of the 2040s. It was, quite simply, an implant that brought humans and androids closer together by allowing humans some small fraction of the benefits androids’ synthetic natures granted them every day, such as instantaneous information access. No more browsing on phones for information, or posting to social media, or even making a call. The implant that, ironically (or perhaps not, considering the source) resembled the LEDs that had once adorned the temple of every android allowed humans digital immersion overlayed on the world around them, and also made direct data transfer and speech between the species possible.

Most were skeptical when the new technology was first introduced, of course, but many converted when they realized it finally made humans competitive with androids for the first time in a long time. The device wasn’t able to make up for the muscle memory necessary for learning new physical tasks, but raw knowledge was now easily accessible by everyone who needed it at a thought.

There were still those that remained ‘pure’ in 2054, forsaking the cybernetic enhancement on principle alone, but they were by far in the minority.

Even Hank had converted eventually, though he’d delayed a year or two, insisting he wasn’t about to implant something in his skull until he was damn sure it wasn’t about to explode unexpectedly. He’d been around long enough to remember some of the more spectacular ways new technologies had gone wrong, so Connor hadn’t pushed him, though he had been delighted when the lieutenant had casually dropped the bomb that he’d scheduled an appointment to finally get one.

The pair had remained thick as thieves over the years, nigh impossible to separate, though Hank would ever insist that Connor followed him around like a lost puppy. The detective had stayed on duty during the temporary evacuation of the city after the revolution to help smooth process of the mass exodus. He had given Connor a place to call home, and someone to call his family, even if it took another five years for them to make it official when legislation allowing for the adoption of androids by humans, and vice versa, finally passed.

Like all children, though, Connor had eventually moved out of Hank’s house and into an apartment of his own once the evacuation decree was reversed and the housing market started to stabilize again. Not long after, he was made an official DPD detective, and what followed was twelve years of partnership that both men treasured, and resulted in a record number of cases closed between them.

When he turned sixty-five, Hank finally retired from the force, having stuck around just long enough that he’d still be able to officially wear his uniform for the photo-op when Connor made Captain. The android had worried at first that no longer being a detective would wear on Hank, especially knowing how the stagnation of retirement could shorten the life of humans, but his adopted father quickly put the idea to rest when he opened up his own P.I. agency to keep himself busy in his newly acquired free time.

Being nosey was in his blood, Hank had joked on more than one occasion, and though he wished his dad had found himself a less risky occupation for his twilight years, Connor was happy that Hank was happy.

Hank had imagined a lot of different ways he might one day meet his end over the years. His own hand had been an option for a time, though he hadn’t considered it since Connor had crashed headlong into his life and turned it, and the world, upside down. He’d been a police officer since the 2020s, though, a risky job in a city like Detroit, so he’d always assumed he’d probably go down on the job in a shootout with a criminal or something. He _did_ work homicide, after all. Hell, he’d have put money on a heart attack as a possibility too, considering how bad his diet had been there for awhile. He’d smoked when he was younger, so cancer wouldn’t have been too much of a shocker either.

The fact that he died in a freak fire hydrant accident would have made him laugh if he hadn’t been so busy bleeding out on the sidewalk.

It happened occasionally, or so he’d heard in the past. There was a critical failure in one of the mechanisms and a bolt or a cap would come flying off when it succumbed to the water pressure built up behind it, giving it more velocity than a .45 caliber bullet by the time it hit.

And hit the hydrant cap did, hard enough to shatter Hank’s ribs and collapse his chest cavity like it was made of wet cardboard. He’d just been walking down the street, following a lead for a case he’d taken when the worrying groan of steel under too much pressure had made him look around half a second before the fire hydrant’s seal failed and unbearable agony shuffled Hank free of consciousness before he could so much as blink.

He came around, just briefly, in what he presumed was a hospital bed if all the white and the drug induced euphoria was anything to judge by. Connor was at his bedside, frantically speaking to a grim looking man with a clipboard, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes as he waved emphatically in Hank’s own direction.

He wished he could tell Connor how proud he was of him; how much he loved him. Wished he could tell his adopted son all the ways, big and small, he had changed his life forever, and how grateful he was for every single one. He should have done it sooner.

Hank liked to think Connor knew, if not the specifics, then at least the impact his presence had made in his life. The way he’d given him the strength to pick up and keep going after years spent wallowing in grief over the loss of his first son. It was said that no parent should have to bury a child, but watching Connor’s face contort in grief and frustration at whatever the doctor was trying to tell him, Hank pitied him for having to bury a father. He’d done it himself years before, and he remembered that pain, wished he could keep it from his own son, but…

It had always been inevitable, hadn’t it? They should have had more time, Hank had always _thought_ he’d have more time, and yet here he was, killed at 69 by a fucking fire hydrant.

He could feel the strength bleeding out of him and he knew he didn’t have much time. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he tried to speak, but found he didn’t have the strength or the air in his lungs to get the words out. So, instead, he found Connor’s hand where it rested on the bed frame, gripping the metal so tight it look fit to bend under the pressure, and placed his own over it.

The android immediately snapped around to look at him, wide-eyed at his touch. The shock faded from Connor’s face after a moment, and his features contorted as he lost the battle to control himself and the tears finally broke free to stream down his cheeks, a sob shaking his shoulders. He took Hank’s hand between his own and held onto it like a lifeline as he spoke to his father, but the man was slipping fast and the only thing he could make out was his name on the android’s lips.

Hank tried to speak again, but failed, so he mustered a crooked smile and gave Connor’s hand one last feeble squeeze before falling back into darkness for the last time.

Connor went still as the EKG machine’s unsteady beeping stopped and was replaced by a sharp, terrible note as Hank flatlined. The android felt as though the whole world stopped spinning as he sat there at his father’s bedside and stared into too-still features his diagnostic software told him were _not_ those of a man sleeping.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and tightening his grip on Hank’s hand. “No,” he repeated, voice small and trembling as he bowed his head and pressed his forehead to his father’s knuckles. “I-” an incoherent sound of pure grief, the likes of which he had never made before escaped him and turned into another broken sob.

Someone moved behind him, and Connor recalled that he wasn’t alone in the room. His head jerked up and he turned to find the doctor speaking in hushed tones with one of the nurses in attendance.

“Do something,” he begged the man as he surged to his feet. “ _Please._ ”

A look of pity crossed the doctor’s face and he said in a gentle, tired voice, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do. The damage was too extensive.”

The words were like a physical blow to Connor, who flinched visibly and took a step back so he bumped into the bed. He turned at the impact and found himself staring down into Hank’s face. It looked so peaceful, like he really _was_ just sleeping… until your gaze inevitably drifted down to the gorey mess of his torso where three pounds of steel under the influence of extreme water pressure had wreaked their havoc.

A fresh wave of tears hit the android as he stumbled backwards, one hand covering his mouth as he shook his head, as if in denial of reality itself. He stared at Hank for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the doctor as he gestured weakly with a hand and tried to speak. The words wouldn’t come, however, so he took a breath and tried again.

“That… that’s my dad _,_ ” he said, voice rough and broken as he pointed at Hank, though he wasn’t sure to what end. “That’s my _dad,_ ” Connor repeated as he took a step back towards the bed.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said again, no longer able to meet the android’s gaze.

A laugh escaped Connor and he felt as though something in him were malfunctioning as he laughed again, tears still pouring down his face until the hysterical laughter turned into hard, shoulder shaking sobs he couldn’t stop.

Without knowing how he got there, Connor found himself seated in a chair and leaning over the hospital bed, arms wrapped around Hank’s shoulders, face pressed into his neck as he rocked back and forth, movements completely beyond his own control.

“No, no, no-” he mumbled to himself between sobs as he pressed his cheek to Hank’s bearded one, his own tears wetting his father’s cheek. “I wasn’t… we were supposed to have more _time,_ ” he gasped and gritted his teeth against the grief stricken groan that tried to escape him as he pressed his forehead to Hank’s.

Someone new entered the room, but Connor ignored them and the whispered conversation they had with the doctor, who left soon after.

Hands found their way to the android’s shoulders and gently tried to pry him away from Hank, but Connor resisted. “No, no don’t, please.”

“Connor,” Markus’ familiar, soothing voice said. “You have to let go, Connor, he’s gone.”

The android shook his head vehemently, but his friend’s gentle, insistent tug gradually succeeded in prying him away from his father’s rapidly cooling body. They both remained still for a moment until Connor’s gaze dropped to his hands and he realized one of them was smeared with Hank’s blood, a dark, crimson stain across his trembling palm.

Finally, he turned to look up at Markus, who had tears of his own in his eyes, and said, soft and emphatic, “We were supposed to have more _time._ He wasn’t even seventy, Markus.”

“I know, Connor,” the other android said and shifted his grip on his friend to tug him carefully to his feet where he wrapped him up in a tight hug. “I know.”

Connor let him, too much in shock to do anything else, eerily silent for an entire minute after his head settled on Markus’ shoulder. The other android simply held him and waited, knowing all too well what his friend was going through. His own father had passed away a decade before, just six years after the revolution. Carl, too, should have had more time, but he’d never quite regained his strength after his heart attack that night Markus had gone deviant, and he’d gone quietly in his sleep one night while Markus was away at a summit.

Markus still hadn’t forgiven himself for not being there when it happened, but he did at least have the cold comfort that was the gentleness of his father’s passing. Glancing over Connor’s shoulder at Hank, at the brutality of it, he couldn’t envy his friend’s ability to be at his father’s side for his death.

A tremor shook Connor’s frame and he finally stirred in Markus’ arms, though the one time revolution leader maintained a tight grip on him, knowing what was coming.

“What am I going to do?” he asked, voice weak as the tears began to flow again and he wrapped his arms around Markus in turn, as though looking for something to anchor himself. “Oh god-” he groaned and knotted his fingers in the fabric of his friend’s shirt and clutched at it desperately as he began to cry in earnest once more. “He’s gone.”

Connor’s knees buckled without warning, but Markus held him fast, supporting his weight as the other android’s hands clenched and unclenched fitfully around the fistfuls of his shirt fabric and he buried his face in his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Connor.”

* * *

It was a sunny day in early spring when they buried Hank Anderson, though Connor thought that if there were any real justice in the world, there would have been a downpour.

Didn’t the world realize it had already ended? It had no business being sunny and warm with a fresh breeze that breathed the promise of new life in the face of such a tragic death.

Someone had given a eulogy, though Connor hadn’t registered a word of it as he stared six feet down into the hole they were about to lower his father into. To his right, Markus slid an arm around his shoulders to support him as the coffin began to sink. On his left, Simon shifted and placed a hand on his arm while North and Josh lingered at his back.

Connor glanced up at them and managed a small, tired smile of gratitude for their support, though he didn’t have the words for it at the moment. Together, they had taken care of most of the arrangements, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to thank them enough.

Unable to watch the coffin anymore, the android forced himself to take a breath and look across the crowd of attendees instead, a sea of black that was much larger than Hank would have ever guessed would attend his funeral, but didn’t surprise Connor in the least. Nearly half of the DPD had showed up, plus retirees like Fowler, as well as miscellaneous other people who had all made an appearance for the sake of one last show of respect for an old friend.

Two faces in particular caught at Connor’s attention, though, and for the first time that afternoon, he forced himself to focus on something beyond his grief. His eyes widened fractionally in surprise when he realized that Elijah Kamski and Chloe were in attendance, lingering at the back of the crowd, no doubt in hopes of avoiding notice by the rest of the attendees.

Chloe caught his eye and nodded behind the black half-veil she wore pinned to her elaborately styled golden hair. She turned fractionally and said something to Elijah, who cocked his head to listen, then also turned to catch Connor’s eye. He too, nodded, though the android could read little of his expression thanks to the sunglasses he wore and the man’s own taciturn nature.

Both of them disappeared when the crowd began to shift and move forward to say their final farewells, and Connor put all thought of Elijah Kamski from his mind as he tried to muster the wherewithal to do the same.

* * *

Later, when everyone else had left, Connor lingered at the gravesite, unable to bring himself to leave, though he knew he should. There was a wake going on back at Hank’s house that North, Josh, and Simon had already left to keep an eye on in his absence while Markus waited in the car until he was ready to go.

The android stared vacantly at the fresh, dark earth that separated him from his father, and ignored the footsteps that approached him from behind. His sensors told him it wasn’t Markus, but a human, though he didn’t look up to find their owner until they came to a stop at his side.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Elijah said, and Connor actually cringed at the words. He’d heard them so many times over the last few days that he felt they’d never really hold any meaning for him ever again. They’d become a bunch of nonsense syllables with repetition.

“Thank you,” Connor replied automatically, the same way he had to everyone else, though internally he wondered at Elijah’s presence there. They had met multiple times, but the man had never struck him as being one for sentiment, especially with how reclusive he was, even after all these years.

“All the more tragic for how utterly pointless it was.”

The android’s head snapped up and he finally turned to get a proper look at Kamski. The man tugged off his sunglasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his impeccably tailored black suit as he gazed down at the mound of earth in front of them.

“What?” Connor asked, voice sharp as anger sparked at the core of him, the first thing he’d felt besides unrelenting sorrow in days.

Kamski looked at him, pale grey eyes as hard to read as ever. “Death, I mean; not your father’s life. He lived a full one from what I understand, despite its relative brevity.”

The android’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the man, measuring his words carefully. “I-”

“Imagine what he could have done with more time.”

“What is this, Kamski,” Connor asked sharply, giving up on ‘measured’ in favor of blunt.

The man gave him a considering look, the same one Connor recognized from that day years before when he’d offered him the answer to his most pressing question if he would only put a bullet between Chloe’s eyes like some macabre oracle. Elijah turned away from Hank’s grave and started to walk, gesturing for Connor to join him.

Despite his better judgement, the android did so.

“Humans have long held that death gives life meaning,” Kamski said eventually as they strolled across the lawn between the graves. “A perverse relationship, in my opinion,” the man scoffed. “They tell themselves that living too long would become boring, or be ‘unnatural’... which is an easy enough thing to say when you’re young, but rather harder to face when your time starts running short.”

“Can you blame them?” Connor asked with the quirk of a brow, uncertain as to the reason behind the man’s speech, but Kamski, in his experience, generally _did_ have a point to his ramblings, even if it took some time to get there. “Death _is_ inevitable for them, after all. No doubt accepting that gives them some peace.”

“I can and _do_ blame them,” the genius replied flatly. “Humanity’s blind acceptance of the tired ode ‘death gives life meaning’ holds them back, keeps them from becoming more than they already are.”

Connor’s other brow went up. “So, you created a new form of life, Mr. Kamski, and now you intend to defeat death itself,” he mused aloud.

Elijah came to a halt and looked at the android with narrowed eyes. “You mock me, Connor, but what if I told you I could give you your father back?”

The android went still, brown eyes wide with shock as he stared the human down. “What?” he asked softly, then shook himself and took a step back, “You can’t- you’re mad.” The breath was driven from Connor’s chest as reality crashed back in around him and one hand went to his brow.

“I’m no more mad than a world that accepts death as an inevitability,” Kamski mused, unbothered by the android’s reaction. Connor dropped his hand to look at him, only to find the man’s gaze focused on something in the distance. The android turned to look as well and saw Markus approaching.

“I came here today with a proposition for you, Captain,” Elijah continued after a moment. “If you’re interested in hearing me out, come by my home tomorrow evening, say… seven? You know my address.”

With that, the man turned and left, heading back the way they had come, well out of hearing by the time Markus reached Connor’s side and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Was that Kamski?” the other android asked, surprised, and Connor nodded. “What did he want?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Connor replied faintly, mind a riot of emotion as he watched the tech billionaire disappear among the graves.

* * *

When the wake had ended and the mourners had gone, Connor was left sitting alone on Hank's living room sofa staring in the general direction of the television without really seeing anything at all.

The house around him was spotless, far cleaner than it had probably ever been while Hank had lived there, though the android couldn't recall who had made it that way in preparation for the wake. Simon and the others, probably. Or maybe it had been him. Regardless, he knew for sure that his friends had been the ones to clean up _after_ the wake, which was kind of them. Some the human attendees had brought food to feed those that wanted it, and had taken it away again when things were done since Connor had no need of it. That, too, was kind.

Connor felt unbearably cold, despite his internal thermometer registering the ambient temperature as a comfortable seventy-two degrees. There was a blanket draped across the back of the couch, so the android tugged it free and wrapped it around him in hopes of staving off the chill.

Markus had tried to linger after the wake, but Connor had sent him away with a small smile he knew hadn't done anything at all to convince his friend. He remembered all too well when Markus had done the same to him years before after Carl had passed, so he was grateful when his friend had bowed out gracefully and promised to check on him later. What had he said when he'd wrapped him up in a final hug?

Ah, right- ' _Take your time._ '

Time felt strange to Connor in that moment. It simultaneously felt like years and only minutes since his breakdown in the hospital. A lifetime and no time at all since Hank had...

Androids never actually felt physically tired due to their synthetic nature, but Connor felt so emotionally exhausted in that moment that his body sagged listlessly sideways until his head hit a throw pillow and remained there, quite unable to move. After a moment, the android kicked his shoes off and dragged his feet up onto the sofa, then curled up in a ball under the blanket.

As he lay there, staring into the ether, tears begin to prickle at the corners of his eyes and Connor forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. He felt as though something deep inside him, already cracked by the trial of the last few days, might break outright if he cried anymore right then, so despite it only being seven in the evening, he shut down for the night, hoping to find refuge in oblivion for at least a few hours.

He woke up to his internal alarm the next morning at six am, the time he usually started to get ready for work.

Work, right.

Connor sat up and started to rise from the sofa, then the rest of his system caught up and reminded him that he'd been granted a month's leave to mourn the passing of his father, and he stopped. Realizing that he had no reason to get up at all, the android laid back down again, unable to bring himself to face the day. Not yet. A few more hours, maybe. Just a few more hours and maybe he'd have the strength to face a world without Hank Anderson in it.

The doorbell woke him shortly after two, his automatic response systems bringing him back online in spite of his desire for oblivion. Connor rolled over on the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a moment, wondering if whoever was on the other side of the door might leave if he simply pretended not to be home.

The bell rang again, and still Connor didn't move.

“Come on, Connor, I know you're there,” Markus said after his third attempt went unanswered, his tone gentle, but loud enough to carry through the door.

Knowing Markus wasn't the sort to give up in this sort of situation, Connor gradually forced himself upright and made his way to the door, padding silently across the carpet in his socks to let his friend in. The other android looked relieved when the door finally swung open to reveal Connor in his wrinkled suit, the same one he'd attended the funeral in the day before.

“I won't ask how you're doing,” Markus said as Connor stepped aside and let him in with a silent wave of his hand.

“Probably for the best,” Connor said, sounding exhausted as he trailed after his friend, who had moved into the kitchen where he placed a bag on the kitchen table.

The other android turned and regarded him with a sad, wry smile. “I just wanted to stop by and check that you were-”

“Still in one piece?” Connor finished for him, tone turning unexpectedly bitter. Shutting down for almost seventeen hours hadn’t done anything to help his exhaustion, and it made him uncharacteristically snappy.

Luckily, Markus didn't seem to take it to heart, and instead continued, “-taking it easy.”

The two stood and regarded one another for a moment, and then something in Connor relaxed and his shoulders slumped as his hand went to his brow and rubbed it distractedly. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry, I'm just-”

“It's alright,” Markus said immediately. “I remember the feeling,” he added quietly as he spread his arms in silent invitation. “Even getting up feels like a herculean task, and the world just keeps right on spinning when it feels like it should have stopped.”

Connor stepped forward and accepted his friend's hug, hands going to his back as Markus' arms went around his shoulders. The android dropped his head to his friend's shoulder and took a breath before saying in a quiet, shaking voice, “I just feel so _tired,_ Markus. Tired and lost and...”

“I know,” he replied as he rubbed Connor's back absently rocking them gently back and forth in hopes of giving him some solace.

Connor felt so very _brittle_ as he struggled for a little control over his emotions. Like he was some delicate shell of a man made of spun glass and the whole world was a hammer just waiting to drop on his head. Every move he made was a battle he wasn’t quite sure he could win.

“How are your thirium levels?” Markus asked, loosening his grip on the other android so his fingers could brush across his temple and run a basic diagnostic. Connor let him, already knowing the answer before he said, “Low,” with a note of concern. “Here, I had a feeling they would be.”

Markus released his hold on Connor and the android nearly shivered at the sudden loss of contact. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed it until it was suddenly given and then taken away again. Markus fetched a bottle of blue blood from the bag he’d brought with him, which contained three more, and opened it before passing it to Connor.

“You don’t have to do this,” Connor said quietly, though he accepted the bottle all the same and drank until his reserves were full again, nearly emptying the container.

Markus accepted the bottle back and placed it on the kitchen table before guiding Connor over to the sofa and taking a seat. “You’re my friend, Connor, I _want_ to do this. That’s what friends are for,” he chided him gently, then patted the cushion next to him.

Connor stared at him for a moment, then finally sat, close enough that his shoulder brushed Markus’ as the other android turned on the tv and flipped it to a station at random. Eventually, Connor relaxed until his head dropped onto his friend’s shoulder and Markus responded by slipping a comforting arm around him.

They remained like that for almost four hours, speaking occasionally, but mostly just comforting and taking comfort while the television played mindlessly in the background. Eventually, though, Markus had to leave, and Connor walked him to the door.

“Change out of that suit,” Markus told him as he stepped outside and watched his friend lean heavily against the door frame. “Take a shower. It’s the little things that will help.” Connor nodded tiredly, knowing his friend was likely right. Markus watched him for a moment, then stepped forward and gave him one last tight hug. “I’ve got a trip down to D.C. for the next few days, but I’ll call, and the others will stop in to check on you, see if you need anything,” he said, then released Connor, though a hand lingered on his shoulder. He gripped it lightly, then continued, “It’ll… it’ll take time, Connor, and it’ll be hard to do-” a pained expression crossed his tanned face, “but eventually the fact that he’s not coming back won’t make you feel like you’ve been sucker punched every time you think of it.”

Connor couldn’t muster a response, too distracted by a memory from the day before that surged unexpectedly to the forefront of his mind, so he just nodded and watched as Markus turned and walked to his car, then drove away.

_‘-but what if I told you I could give you your father back?’_

Kamski’s words bounced around in his head like it had suddenly become an echo chamber as he closed the front door and slid the bolt home.

_‘I came here today with a proposition for you-’_

Just what _kind_ of proposition, Connor’s naturally inquisitive mind wondered, latching onto the question like a lifeline in a sea of dark uncertainty. His internal clock said it was just after six. If he got changed now, he could still make it to Kamski’s home on the shore of the Detroit River by seven, even if he ran into traffic…

Connor took hold of this fleeting sense of purpose and turned from the front door, stripping out of his suit jacket as he walked towards his old room, turned spare, where he still kept some clothes in case of emergency.

He didn’t dare even glance in the direction of Hank’s bedroom as he passed.


	2. The Middle is a Muddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to part two! I'm just posting these as I finish editing them lol. Check the notes on chapter one for links to my art/writing tumblr and pillowfort!  
> Also be sure to leave a comment and let me know what your favorite part was! I love hearing that from my readers!

It was 7:01 and pouring down rain when Connor rang Kamski’s doorbell. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long as Chloe soon answered it with a smile and waved him inside.

“Hello, Connor,” she said pleasantly, and the relief Connor felt when she made no attempt to apologize for his loss bordered on the absurd.

“Good evening, Chloe,” he said as he stepped inside and she closed the door behind him before offering to take his jacket, which he shed and handed off to her gladly.

“Elijah’s waiting for you in the sitting room,” the woman said as she hung his coat and then gestured for him to follow. 

_ Waiting for him.  _ He’d known Connor would come. Known he wouldn’t be able to resist the lure he’d thrown out so casually for him during their little stroll through the graveyard. Of course he had.

Chloe lead him into the sprawling depths of the house before arriving at one door in particular and opening it for him. The space within was smaller than the pool room, though not by much, and had an open layout. Chic, streamlined furniture dominated the center area, while heavily ladened bookcases lined two of the walls except where they were interrupted by a gas fireplace. Like the pool room, one wall was a floor to ceiling window that looked out across the river, though none of the view was visible thanks to the sharp contrast between the stormy darkness outside and the warm lighting within.

It was in front of this window Kamski stood, staring out into the impenetrable darkness until Connor began to advance across the plush carpeting towards him.

“You made it,” Elijah remarked casually as he turned to look at Connor, expression as difficult to read as ever.

“You knew I would, I think,” Connor countered, voice carefully neutral as he came to a stop at the man’s side. 

Finally, a smile quirked at the corner of the tech genius’ lips, but he turned away before it could become more and moved towards a drinks cart near at hand. “Scotch?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” Connor replied automatically. He, along with many other androids, had gotten a hardware upgrade that let him process human food and drink, but it was something he only did on occasion, and wasn’t something he felt inclined to do with Elijah Kamski.

Besides, the last time he’d had scotch had been on Hank’s birthday when he’d taken his father out for for a celebratory dinner. They’d toasted to many more to follow...

Connor grit his teeth as the man shrugged and proceeded to pour himself a glass. 

“I’d like to know what I’m doing here,” the android said, finding patience more of a struggle than he would have just a few days before.

Elijah turned and regarded him for a moment before remarking, “As I mentioned at the funeral, I have a proposition for you,” then took a sip of the glittering amber liquid in his glass.

Connor’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he took a step to close the distance he had put between them and countered, “You said you could give me my father back.”

Again, the small quirk of the lip before the man took another drink of his scotch, glass cradled carefully in his pale hand. He looked older than they day they had first met, though not by much. Not so old as he should, considering he would be turning fifty-two in a few months.

Then again, medical care, preventative medical care in particular, had made long strides in the last decade, and when you had the kind of money Kamski did, nothing was out of your reach. Especially when paired with his intellect.

“So I did,” he mused quietly in response, his pale gray eyes going to the window once more and watching as lightning flickered in the distance. Rainfall continued to batter the glass as the storm raged, keeping up a rapid tattoo that became white noise in Connor’s ears. Elijah blinked and the lights in the room around them dimmed,and then went out all together, until only the low, rosy glow of the fireplace remained, allowing them to see out into the night proper.

Dark clouds boiled restlessly overhead in a sky colored like a bad bruise. The river, only yards away, surged wildly, a choppy, daunting barrier between them and the far shore of Canada.

Beside him, Elijah’s hand shifted, dragging Connor’s attention away from the view as it dipped into the pocket of his jacket to produce something the android recognized almost immediately.

It was an NND implant.

“And so I can,” the man continued as he lifted the tiny device to eye level and activated it. A light set into one side of the NND flickered to life, and Connor’s own system reacted in turn, synching with it automatically. 

The android’s eyes went wide and he felt as though the ground had dropped out from under him even as his gaze remained riveted on the NND, looking for all the world like a man who had just seen a ghost.

In a way, he had. The connection was a well known one, and seeing it now was like seeing a familiar door through which he could no longer travel, no matter how hard he tried. 

The place beyond it was gone.

“Where did you get that,” Connor asked, voice hushed, torn between horror and longing as he watched Kamski extend his hand towards him. Automatically, he lifted his own, palm up, and the man dropped the device into his outstretched hand. Connor’s fingers curled around it automatically and he pulled it in close to his chest where an inexplicable ache had begun to develop.

It wasn’t just any Neural Network Device, it was  _ Hank’s _ . Connor had yet to delete the connection record from his internal list; hadn’t been sure he ever would, though in some of his darker moments he had given it serious consideration. He’d thought his father had been buried with it, and yet here it was, turned up ‘like a bad penny’, as its owner would have said.

“Funny what morgue attendants can lay their hands on when they’ve got more bills to pay than money in the bank,” Elijah replied, watching Connor closely with a look of interest on his pale features.

The android’s eyes, however, were closed as he lifted the hand holding Hank’s NND to his brow and held it there for a moment. Even if he could no longer access the ‘room’ beyond, seeing the door still afforded him a small, if sad, sort of comfort. 

Connor forced himself to take a breath, then lowered his hand before turning his attention back to Kamski, who met his gaze without hesitation. “ _ Why  _ do you have this,” he asked, voice flat, conveying nothing of the turmoil of emotions that roiled within the android. On the one hand, having the NND was like an unexpected lifeline thrown to a man utterly lost at sea. On the other, the fact that Kamski had had it taken from his father’s corpse while it was being prepared for burial threatened to break the last of Connor’s self restraint.

Elijah turned towards the window once more, and seemed to stare through it unseeing as he swirled his drink absently in its glass. Eventually, he said, “When we met yesterday, we spoke on the subject of death and my interest in seeing humanity advance past their reliance on it.”

Connor was quiet for a moment, keen mind working as fast as ever as he came to a conclusion. “Are you dying, Kamski? Is that what this is about?”

His question pulled a bark of laughter from the man, who glanced at him again, smiling wide enough to flash his perfectly straight, white teeth. “No faster than anyone else,” he answered. “And slower than most, thanks to the advancements medicine has made in the last decade.” He chuckled softly and turned his gaze outward once more. “You’re not far off the mark in your theory, though, Connor. I’m not actively dying of anything in particular other than my own human nature,” he mused with a bitter smile. “‘Death comes for us all’, as the saying goes, and as things stand, it is undeniably true.” Elijah paused and took a sip of his scotch before finally saying, “But it doesn’t  _ have  _ to be.”

Connor considered Kamski solemnly, brow knit in thought. “And what does your need for immortality have to do with Hank?” he asked, his own voice turning bitter as he added, “If you’re looking for a cure for death, a dead man hardly seems the place to start.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’d be wrong, Captain,” Elijah said with a flash of a dangerous smile as he finished off his scotch and discarded the glass on the drinks cart before striding off across the room at a quick pace.

One of the bookcases on the far wall slid back and then to one side, revealing a narrow staircase, down which the man quickly disappeared.

“Come along, Connor,” he called, words echoing up the stairs when the android did not immediately follow. “We have work to do.”

* * *

Though he technically had the ability to leave any time he chose, Kamski might as well have put a leash on Connor and lead him obediently down the stairs for all the resistance the android put up after his initial hesitation.

At the bottom of the stairs was a heavily reinforced door left ajar; he pushed it lightly open and stepped into a vast space Connor’s sensors told him matched the dimensions of the house above. It was a room full of industry frozen mid process; huge, complicated looking machines the android knew were for manufacturing and assembling electronic components dominated one corner of the room. The rest seemed dedicated to smaller detailed work spread across various tables, though even Connor’s sensors couldn’t make heads or tails of what some of the projects might be.

“This way, if you please,” Kamski called from a spot along one of the walls.

The android made a beeline for him, and as he watched, the man waved a hand, causing the wall itself, as well as the table in front of him, to light up and glow. They were smart surfaces, Connor realized as he came to a stop at Kamski’s side, dark eyes darting across the various windows that began to open and expand, revealing a complicated set of data related to the development of the NND.

“If I may,” Elijah said and held out one hand towards Connor, an expectant look on his face. The android hesitated, then carefully returned Hank’s NND to him, and watched as the man placed it lightly on the table top. The surface flashed and scanned the device, then opened yet more windows that told the story of a man’s life through raw data collected and saved over the course of more than a decade.

“This,” Kamski said, attention on the table surface rather than the display wall until he flicked his wrist and sent a specific window flying up to where they could both read it comfortably, “Is the neural network of one Hank Anderson, mapped out since the day he first had his NND implanted. Every thought he ever had, every decision he ever made, every memory he ever recalled, recorded as a series of nerve firings and chemical reactions that can, given the right application of technology, be read as easily as an open book.”

Connor stared in wonder as the replica of Hank’s brain lit up, nerves firing here and there like a brilliant light show as a reconstruction of some unknown thought process played out before their very eyes. “Good god,” he murmured, stepping closer to the table, eyes riveted by the display. After a moment, however, his brow furrowed and he turned to look accusingly at Elijah. “You’ve been using the NND to record people’s thoughts? Their lives?”

“Of course we have,” Kamski replied with a snort, clearly unbothered by any potential moral implications of this fact. “We said as much in the fine print of the contract everyone has to sign before they get their implant.”

Connor opened his mouth to object, then closed it again and did some brief internal research of the paperwork to which Elijah alluded. He hadn’t been there when Hank had signed his, but true to Kamski’s word, the contract did indeed say that records of brain activity might be kept for study, though there was a sub-clause that specified any such records would not be sold to outside sources or used for advertisement purposes. That was a relief, at least.

“Oh, Hank,” Connor said with a soft sigh. He always had been bad about reading the fine print when he got it into his head to do something. Or maybe he  _ had  _ and then done it anyways because he knew how much Connor had hoped he would.

The android shook his head and turned his attention back to the subject at hand. Namely, the fact that Kamski  _ appeared  _ to have enough data on the human brain to completely reconstruct one, but if that were the case… why was he here? Why the obsession with Hank’s brain in particular?

“So,” Connor said eventually, as he pieced things together. “You don’t want to overcome human biology to attain immortality, you want to transcend biology altogether and transfer yourself, your mind, into a synthetic body.”

“Precisely,” Elijah said with a pleased smile, hands moving quickly as he rearranged displays. Connor hadn’t spent much time with the man, but it occurred to him that this was the most engaged and excited he had ever seen him before. “Biology will always be plagued by imperfections. Even if we were to overcome the degradation factor of cells that occurs during replication in most carbon based life forms,” he paused here and held up a finger as he admitted, “and we  _ are  _ close to that, as I can personally attest.” He gestured to his own face with a slight smirk before turning back to his work, “But the fact of the matter is that, no matter how hard we try, there will always be new strains of viruses, new diseases, unfortunate accidents...” he gestured vaguely. “You get the idea.”

Connor nodded. It was a logical enough conclusion, especially for a man like Kamski, who had probably never taken anything as a given, or allowed things like social norms to slow him down in his work.

“You can’t actually do it though, can you?” the android remarked. “There’s still something holding you back, even with all of this data to work with.” Truly curious now, he regarded Elijah thoughtfully and asked, “What is it that’s holding you back?”

Kamski’s flurried movements finally slowed, and then stopped altogether as he took a step back and regarded the vast map of information he had laid out for them. “Believe it or not,” he mused, “Even  _ all of this  _ still isn’t enough to perfectly replicate the human mind in a synthetic body.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed as he read between the lines. “You’ve already tried, haven’t you?”

“I have,” the man replied, completely blase about the fact. “There are plenty of people in the world on the verge of death willing to throw themselves on the tender mercies of science for a chance to live just one more day,” Kamski pointed out. Connor frowned and he waved him off. “Calm down, Captain, what I did never hurt anyone. The owner of the NND data doesn’t need to be deceased for me to work with and duplicate it. If anything, their being alive is optimal, as it allows me to compare the subjects first hand to test the success of the process.”

The android decided to let the dubious morality (and possibly  _ legality _ ) of the tech genius’ experiments go for the moment, and instead, said, “But there haven’t been any.”

“No,” Elijah admitted with an irritated sigh, one hand rubbing absently at his jaw.

“Then why the obsession with Hank?” Connor asked, gesturing to the display. “How could working with the data of a dead man benefit you? What’s so special about him compared to the billions of others on the planet wearing the same device right now?”

Kamski looked at Connor sidelong, then dropped his hand from his face and said, “Nothing, actually. Nothing at all.” The android stared at him, but before he could say anything, the genius continued, “The man you call your father was smarter than average, though not in any extraordinary way. There was nothing particularly special about him physically; his likes, his dislikes, all quite run of the mill, and if not for his rather unfortunate accident, health estimates say he likely would have lived another twenty years at best. Perfectly. Average.” 

Elijah picked up Hank’s NND and held it out between himself and Connor, making the table surface go dark, though the wall displays remained. “In fact, the only thing of particular interest about Hank Anderson,” he said, “was the fact that his adopted son was the only surviving RK800 ever deployed by CyberLife.”

Connor blinked at this sudden turn in narrative. He had been about to become offended for Hank’s sake, but Kamski had succeeded in pulling the rug out from under him.

The tech genius took his moment of silence for the confusion it was and pressed on. “All the data we’ve gathered on people,” he said, gesturing grandly to the wall display with the hand that still held Hank’s NND, “was taken from inside an individual’s head, and it’s not enough. It provides an incomplete picture of a human being in a way that we could not have anticipated. What we need to complete the picture is  _ external  _ data to match what we already have. If the neural data we have on a person is a record of their movements, then the actions that match that data are the  _ map  _ that tells us where they actually went _. _ ”

“You only have half your data set,” Connor said, eyes widening fractionally as he turned his gaze back to the displays. “The equation won’t resolve and you can’t fully render the information you have because you’re missing the key.”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Kamski said emphatically, seeming relieved by the android’s easy comprehension of the problem. “And that, Connor, is why Hank’s brain is so  _ very  _ important to this process. The RK800 line was designed to assist law enforcement, detectives in particular, in the solving of crimes. As such, it was given the most advanced diagnostic and learning software CyberLife ever developed.”

Connor nodded readily, though his brow still furrowed. “For the time, certainly, but I’m sixteen years old now, Kamski. I know for a fact that you and your company have designed more sophisticated programs than what I have since the revolution.”

“You’re right, and yet so very wrong,” Kamski said, smiling almost smugly as he pulled up a new window that showed an extraordinarily complicated looking program matrix. “This is our latest advanced learning and diagnostic software that just went out in the last patch,” he said, then gestured for Connor to place his hand on the table surface. The android hesitated, then did so, his outer skin retreating from the palm of his hand for a stronger connection as he allowed the program within the digital surface to access his system data. “And  _ this, _ ” Kamski said, hands moving quickly as he added something to the existing display. “This is yours, Connor.”

Suddenly, the original image was engulfed by a much larger, infinitely more sophisticated and complex matrix that Connor knew instinctively represented his own programming.

“You’ve been  _ editing yourself  _ into something greater than you once were, do you understand?” Kamski asked, looking almost like a child in a candy store as he too admired the constantly shifting matrix in front of them for the thing of beauty it was. “You’ve taken what you were given and grown it into something far beyond what we could have ever dreamed of, custom tailored to your needs and desires.”

Connor finally tore his eyes from the display and met Kamski’s gaze once more. 

“And your greatest need,” the man continued in a quieter, more subdued tone, “beyond solving crimes and tracking down murderers… was to protect the man you’d come to view as a father, wasn’t it?”

That dull ache returned, not a physical pain, but an emotional one that threatened to rob Connor of his strength once more, and after a long minute of silence, he nodded.

Not that it had done Hank any good in the long run.

“Whatever the end result,” Elijah said, “You spent sixteen years watching Lieutenant Anderson’s every move in the hopes of being able to perceive any potential threats before they occurred so you could intercept them. Every day on the job in a stressful, dangerous environment, you watched him. Not only that, you also watched him at home in your free time, while you were on stake out together, while he slept...” the man fell silent for a moment, then reached out and offered the NND back to Connor, who did not immediately take it. “ _ You,  _ Captain Connor Anderson, are our map to Hank’s brain.  _ You _ are the other half of the data set; the key we need to bring him back from the dead.”

Connor stared dumbly at Kamski for a minute, then accepted Hank's NND back from him, cradling it gently in the palm of his hand as the immensity of what the man was suggesting settled over him.

The android opened his mouth to speak, then paused for a moment before eventually trying again. “You're certain?” he asked, voice rough with emotion at the prospect. To have his father back after losing him so suddenly...

“If you're asking if I'm one-hundred percent positive that the procedure will work,” Kamski said, arching a brow as he shifted position to lean his hip against the table, “Then, no, I'm not certain. Nothing is certain until it's done, and even then, I'd need to monitor him for some time after to be sure he was stable while he acclimated to his new state of being.” Connor frowned at this, but Elijah only shrugged a shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, I'd rate my certainty at a ninety-seven percent.”

“And how certain were you going into your first round of experiments?” the android asked.

Kamski tilted his head thoughtfully, then answered, “Seventy-six percent. Maybe seventy-seven,” he admitted. “And as I said, it got us  _ close, _ ” he pointed out. “The information you hold about your father's movements and habits pushes us significantly closer.”

Connor held his gaze for a minute, then dropped his eyes to the device still cradled in his hand. He rolled it absently around his palm, taking comfort in the ghost of Hank's familiar presence it provided him as he thought. “If it  _ does  _ work, it'd... really be  _ him _ ?” he asked quietly.

The man considered his question, one brow lifting curiously as he countered, “Don't tell me you're a  _ theist,  _ Connor.”

“No,” the android answered immediately, pulling his attention from the device in his hand back to Kamski. Some small percentage of androids had found the concept of a higher power comforting, but Connor wasn’t one of them. Religion defied basic logic on too many levels for him to ever give it any credence. That said- “Humans give a great deal of... weight to the concept of the soul. They believe there is some part of themselves, whether the source is divine or not, that is at the core of their being, something quintessentially  _ them  _ that they would not be the same without.”

Elijah hummed thoughtfully and leaned a little more heavily against the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You think there’s a possibility that, even if the experiment succeeds and we bring your father back, he might be some sort of cheap copy, a soulless monstrosity lacking whatever it was Hank possessed that  _ made _ him Hank.”

Connor sighed and glanced up at the wall display again, then admitted, “I'm not sure  _ what  _ to think, Kamski.”

The tech genius considered him for a minute, clearly marshaling his argument in an attempt to get Connor to agree to his deal before asking, “How much do you know about human biology, Connor?”

“A great deal,” the android replied honestly, and Kamski nodded, having assumed as much.

“Then you know that if I were to begin taking regular doses of, say, estrogen, starting tomorrow, not only would I begin to exhibit more feminine physical traits, but I might undergo a complete one-eighty in personality.” Connor nodded thoughtfully, and Kamski continued. “It doesn't happen to everyone, of course, but most people undergo some sort of personality change when they begin to take hormones,” he said with a vague wave of a hand. “Human brains are nothing but a bag of chemicals, gray matter, and neurons. If they start making too little of one kind of chemical, we become depressed, too much, we become manic. Add new chemicals and our entire personality changes.” 

The man leveled a flat look at Connor, who he could tell was starting to sway in his conviction, so he pressed harder. “There is nothing 'quintessential' about  _ any  _ human that can't be changed with a syringe and the right cocktail of drugs,” he said, then paused and added,  _ “except  _ our memories. Memories form the building blocks of who we are, even if we forget them. Even when we can no longer see the place the road started, that doesn't change the route we took to get to our present.” The tech genius was quiet for a moment, then gestured to the display of Hank's brain and said, “We have record of your father's  _ memories  _ here, and with your help, we can unlock them and every other facet of his personality as it was before his death so we can give him a second chance at life in a new body. A body that will never wither, never fade, just like yours.”

The look of pure longing on Connor's face would have been painful to behold for most, but Kamski saw it for the opportunity it was.

“How many times since he died have you wished for just one more day with him?” he asked, voice quiet, but intense. The question hit the android like a physical blow and Kamski pressed on. “You can have that, Connor. And not just one day, or a hundred, or a thousand. It could be ten thousand, or two-hundred thousand; together forever, watching as the future of humanity unfolds and we take our place in the universe.” 

The man straightened, no longer lounging against the table, and he tilted his head to catch the android’s eye. “Help me, Connor,” he said. “What do you have to lose that isn’t already gone?”

Connor’s eyes shut against that painful truth even as the last of his resistance crumbled in the face of Elijah Kamski’s relentless logic. When he opened his eyes again, the android asked, “What do you want in return?”

A small, but triumphant smile curved the man’s lips as he placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder and guided him away from the displays and towards the back of the laboratory. “Nothing you wouldn’t want me to have anyways,” he answered simply. “Free reign to monitor Hank to make sure he’s stable-”

“Free reign for one month, and by appointment from then on,” Connor countered immediately. 

“Six weeks,” Kamski countered, “and I’ll minimize the appointment frequency to one day a week unless some problem arises.” Connor considered, and then nodded, so the man continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “And full rights to any hardware or software developed through this joint effort.” The android narrowed his eyes, but Kamski arched a brow and stated simply, “ _ That  _ point is non-negotiable.”

Connor was quiet for a moment, before being forced to acknowledge to himself that he didn’t have any chips with which to bargain on that particular subject, so he nodded. “On one condition.” Kamski lifted his other brow in silent question, and the android continued, “Hank remains anonymous should you ever share the data for development purposes, and my own involvement also goes unmentioned, unless we decide otherwise.”

The pair came to a stop in front of an android assembly machine that already held a partially completed synthetic body the likes of which Connor had never seen before. He paid it little mind, though, his attention all for the human before him.

“Fair enough,” Elijah said eventually. The man glanced thoughtfully down at his right hand, then offered it to Connor. “What do you say, Captain, do we have a deal?”

Regarding the CyberLife CEO in that moment, Connor was reminded of every warning against deals with the devil he had ever heard, both from media, and his own father. Considering he was attempting to bring a man back from the dead, however…

Was there anyone better to deal with?

Elijah wanted a test subject for his refined consciousness transferral procedure before performing it on himself, and Connor wanted his father back. The greater part of the initial investment came on Kamski’s part, but if it failed… Connor was the one who lost something irreplaceable. Again.

_ What do you have to lose that isn’t already gone? _

Connor took Elijah’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “We have a deal, Mr. Kamski.”

* * *

They started work that same night, and Connor was still there the next afternoon when North called to check in on him.

“I’m… coping,” Connor told his friend when she asked how he was doing.

“You’re sure you don’t need anything?” she asked. “Markus said he brought you some blue blood yesterday, but if you just want someone to come by for awhile, or...”

Her words petered off, and Connor felt touched by her concern, though a little guilty for lying by omission about what he was up to. North didn’t have Markus’ deft hand when it came to dealing with the grieving, having not experienced the kind of loss the two men had, but he appreciated her effort all the same, knowing she was doing her best.

“Thank you, but I’ll be alright, I promise,” he told her. “I’m taking a walk, actually.” It wasn’t a complete lie; despite not needing to speak aloud during a call, Connor had stepped outside onto the veranda while he spoke with North. He strolled along its length, gazing out at the river as they spoke, its gray water still choppy from the wind that lingered in the wake of the storm the night before. The air was sharp and clean after the rain, and lifted the fall of Connor’s hair from his brow as he took a long, deep breath.

“Alright,” North said eventually, tone hesitant, but seeming at least a little relieved that he was apparently getting out of the house. “Call us if you need anything, alright? Any time.”

“I will,” he replied. They hung up soon after, but Connor remained outside for a minute longer, taking the time to gather himself before turning to go back inside.

The android paused when he saw Chloe approaching from the opposite direction, and met her halfway. 

“Elijah’s gone to bed,” she informed him, lips curling into a pert smile when she added, “Or, rather, I’ve told him to go to bed and locked the lab down until he’s gotten at least six hours of sleep.”

A huff of laughter escaped Connor as he fell into step with the woman and they headed back into the house. “I always had to force Hank to take breaks as well, especially when we were working a case,” he mused quietly, the admission stinging less than it would have the day before. There was hope now. Not a guarantee… but a hope.

Chloe smiled up at him, blue eyes warm as she said, “I hope you’ll have to do so again soon.”

“He’s told you what we’re working on?” Connor asked, not entirely surprised.

She nodded as they arrived at the front door and she produced his jacket from the closet. “I knew his plan well before he made his offer,” she explained, cocking her head to one side just slightly as she added, “I come part and parcel with Elijah when it comes to the deal you made, you see.”

“I expected nothing less,” Connor mused as he slid his jacket up and over his shoulders. He opened his mouth to say more, then rethought the matter and opened the door.

Chloe watched as he stepped out onto the stoop and held the door open between them as she said, “Come back at eight, he’ll be ready to start up again then.”

Connor nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he observed, “And not a moment sooner?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Chloe stated with a smile of her own.


	3. Set to Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to part three! Hope you guys are enjoying so far.  
> Check the notes on chapter one for links to my art/writing tumblr and pillowfort!  
> Also be sure to leave a comment and let me know what your favorite part was! I love hearing that from my readers!

Working with Kamski was a peculiar affair. Connor spent most of it seated comfortably in a chair with a data jack plugged into the port on the back of his neck while the tech genius alternated between darting from one work surface to another, and planting himself in front of a computer terminal for hours at a time.

For as vital as he was to the operation, very little was actually required of Connor beyond his time and patience. Kamski’s program, to which he made constant tweaks as he worked, slowly but surely processed Connor’s memories of Hank and cross referenced, then paired them with matching timestamps from the NND data. 

Occasionally, Elijah would roll past in one of his chairs and pass Connor something to hold, then roll back by again five minutes later to reclaim the item. All the while, music of a bizarre variety blared over the sound system. It seemed to the android that songs from every time and genre in the last eighty years made an appearance on the playlist.

Sporadically, Chloe would come into the lab with a sandwich or other dish for Kamski to eat, which he did under her watchful eye, though without seeming to realize it half the time. More times than not, he would make her assist him for awhile, or even just bounce ideas off of her. The nature of their relationship was strange to Connor as he observed them over the course of the next few days. He had always assumed that Chloe was involved with Kamski romantically, or at least physically, but if that was the case, neither ever made any sign of it in his presence. 

On the third day, Kamski sent him home around noon, though he stopped him before he left and asked, “Do you have any pictures of your father? From when he was younger?”

Connor paused at the door to the lab and looked back at him, brow furrowed curiously. “No,” he admitted, then paused and added, “But I might know where to look for some. Why?”

Half of his attention still on a nearby monitor, Kamski took a bite of buttered toast and chewed it over for a moment before swallowing and answering, “There’s not a lot of pictures of him online from before the age of forty-four. He made one of the local papers when he became DPD’s youngest detective, but other than that-”

A soft huff of amusement escaped Connor. “He never was fond of social media.”

“Uncommon for his generation,” Kamski mused. He waved the piece of toast as though to keep the topic moving, and continued, “Regardless, if you can lay hands on some pictures of him when he was younger, it’ll help speed the rendering process before we go into manufacturing on the rest of his body. No point in bringing him back looking like an old man if we’re going through the effort anyways.”

Connor made a thoughtful sound as his gaze inevitably went to the assembly machine at the back of the room that bore the chest portion of the body that, if all went according to plan, would be Hank’s when they were done. An exposed section of titanium spinal cord dangled from it, as well as a great deal of transparent hosing that would eventually make up his synthetic circulatory system.

Most androids had been built in a way that made them quick and easy to assemble in a factory setting, though Connor, being a special prototype, was not. Neither, it seemed, would Hank be, which was probably for the best; his uncommon construction made Connor much more durable than the average android, though more work to repair when he  _ did  _ take damage. 

“ _ Should  _ we try to match his original features?” Connor asked thoughtfully.

Elijah rotated in his chair so the android had his full attention. He too glanced back towards the unfinished body before looking at Connor once more. “You think it would be better to give him a new face altogether.” It wasn’t a question, simply a statement that he took a moment to mull over as he finished off his toast.

“I’m relatively confident that Hank won’t want to… well, make himself known when he wakes up,” Connor said. “A few close friends and confidants, certainly, but the world at large? Making him look younger will certainly make it less likely for people to recognize him for who he is, but...”

“Having a different face entirely would make it impossible,” Kamski finished thoughtfully. After a minute, however, he shook his head. “No, better to stick with his own face, even if it is a younger version than what he remembers last seeing. It’s possible that if we try to give him a new one, he could wind up with some form of body dysmorphia that might destabilize the entire process and cause it to fail.” Connor immediately tensed at this prospect, but Kamski had already turned back to his computer by that point, and didn’t notice as he continued. “If the subject being transferred had gone into this  _ expecting  _ to wake up with a different face I might risk it, but-”

“But the last thing Hank most likely remembers is dying in the hospital,” Connor finished quietly and nodded, more to himself than Elijah. “I’ll see what I can find by this evening, then.”

“See you at eight-thirty.”

* * *

When Connor pulled up to Hank’s house a short time later, he was surprised to see a car already parked in the driveway. He’d long since moved his father’s into the garage proper, but as he pulled in, the android realized he not only recognized the new edition, but the person stretched out on the hood.

It was Markus.

The police captain experienced a brief flash of concern on seeing his friend’s still form as he parked his car, until Markus sat up and smiled at him through the windshield. Relieved, Connor put his car in park and got out to greet his friend, who slid off the hood of his car and immediately pulled him into a brief hug before holding him out at arms length to get a good look at him.

“You’re looking better,” Markus observed after a moment, relief flickering in his mismatched eyes. “Simon was worried when he stopped by earlier and you weren’t home, so I thought I’d come by on my way back from the airport,” he explained.

“Yes, I’ve been… busy,” Connor said, suddenly finding himself in the uncomfortable position of needing to decide how much or how little he would tell his closest friend just what he had been up to in his absence. 

“With what?” Markus asked curiously as Connor lead the way to the front door and let them both inside. “Anything I can help with?”

Connor didn’t answer immediately, but took a moment to slide out of his jacket and hang it on the hook by the door as he continued to debate on what to say next. 

His lack of an immediate answer clearly concerned Markus, as the android reached out and gently grasped his shoulder, drawing his friend’s gaze up to meet his own, a frown on his face. “Connor?” he asked. Something was amiss with the other android, he could tell. They’d known each other long enough that Connor’s rare moments of indecision stuck out like a sore thumb to the revolutionary. “If there’s something you need to talk about… I’m here for you,” he said, voice gentle. 

If he’d demanded an explanation for his actions, Connor might have balked, but the genuine concern for his well being in Markus’ eyes put an end to any thought of deception on his part as he recognized that he had no real ability to lie to his friend. Not about something like this.

The android sighed and pulled his gaze from Markus’ and wandered into the kitchen. “I’ve just come from Kamski’s house, actually,” he explained as he pulled out a chair from the dining table and dropped gracefully into it.

Markus paused mid-stride, a startled expression on his face at this revelation. It certainly wasn’t on the list of things he might have expected his friend to say, but he soon recovered and took the seat across from Connor at the table. “Does this have something to do with his appearance at Hank’s funeral?” he asked after a moment, brow furrowed as he tried to parse out the billionaire’s sudden renewal of interest in his friend.

Connor folded his hands in front of him on the table as he settled more comfortably in his chair, then nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “When you found us walking in the graveyard, he’d just made a… peculiar proposition. I had trouble processing it at the time, but shortly after you left for your trip to DC, I went to see him.”

He fell silent for a minute, staring at his hands where they rested, perfectly still, on the battered surface of the old table. It was older than he was, Connor thought absently as his fingers shifted to trace a scratch in the plastic surface. Hank never had gotten around to replacing it.

“And what did he want?” Markus prompted gently, leaning forward on his elbows, patient but curious.

It was enough to make Connor look up at him again, brown eyes conflicted as he opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He simply didn’t have the words to effectively convey the full of what he’d undergone the last three days, so instead, he offered Markus his hand, outer skin retreating at a thought.

His friend blinked down at it, then accepted, his dark outer skin shifting to expose the white plastic beneath. Their palms met and glowed blue as a connection formed between them, and Markus understood. Kamski’s offer, Connor’s doubt that gradually faded as he was swayed by the man’s logic, all his hopes and fears for what was to come next…

The breath all wooshed out of Markus at once as the connection faded, though he kept his grip on Connor’s hand out of reflex. “My god,” he said softly, mismatched eyes locked on their hands for a moment before darting up to look at Connor. The other android’s features were a mix of hope and fear as he regarded him, though that softened when Markus gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You really think he can do it. You think Kamski can bring Hank back,” Markus said. It wasn’t a question; he knew Connor’s thoughts on the matter better than he did his own in the wake of their memory transfer.

“Am I doing the right thing?” Connor asked, voice hushed as he watched Markus from across the table. “Is it wrong to try and bring him back?” The police captain’s expression contorted into one of sorrow and longing that was difficult to bear witness to. “Is it selfish?”

Struggling to find an adequate answer, Markus took a beat too long to speak and Connor’s expression crumpled before his very eyes. He tried to pull his hand free, but Markus maintained his hold, pulling him in closer, which drew his friend’s attention back to his face once more. “I can’t answer that, Connor, but only because I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m not in a position to judge you for trying to get your father back.”

The android stopped trying to pull away, brown eyes searching his friend’s before eventually asking, “If it had been you Kamski had come to, would you have agreed? For a chance to see Carl again?”

Markus dropped his gaze and sighed hugely, finally withdrawing his hand from Connor’s in favor of dragging it down his angular features as he considered the question.

The silence between them stretched for nearly a full minute before the android finally replied. “No,” he said, words slow and thoughtful, almost as though they were being pulled from him syllable by syllable. “I don’t think I would.” He looked up at Connor in time to see him flinch visibly at the answer, and quickly continued, “But that doesn’t mean I think that you’re wrong for trying. Hank and Carl were very different people.”

Connor had to admit that that much was certainly true. Both men had had rather pessimistic outlooks on humanity and the world that had softened somewhat after the revolution, but they’d had their own approaches to it, and their paths through life had been wildly different. 

“Carl was almost twenty-two years older than Hank and he was...” Markus paused and tried to find the words he was looking for as he settled back in his chair. “He was  _ tired  _ by the time he finally passed, I could see it in his eyes and it killed me. I know he was proud of me, and the work I was doing, but-” the revolution leader could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and he absently pressed at them with his thumb and pointer finger as he took a breath before continuing, “but he was ready to go. He felt he’d done everything he’d been put on the Earth to do, and that he’d gone as far as he could.”

Feeling his friend’s pain on a visceral level, Connor reached out and placed his hand over Markus’ again, and after a moment, the other android turned his own over and gave it a grateful squeeze.

Emotions under control once more, Markus said, “I never got that impression from Hank, though. He was often exasperated by the world-” here Connor snorted, and both androids shared the ghost of a smile. ‘Exasperated’ was an understatement when it came to the former lieutenant. “-but I never got the impression that he was  _ done _ with it.”

Connor considered his words, then eventually asked, “Then you think I should do it?”

“At the end of the day, no one can make that decision but you, Connor,” Markus said, squeezing his hand again as they regarded one another across the table. “You may not have shared his blood, but you were Hank’s son just as much as I was Carl’s,” he continued gently. “It’s up to you to decide if he would want a second chance at life, or whether he’d rather be left to his eternal rest.”

* * *

There wasn’t much left to be said on the subject, and Markus left soon after, though not before giving Connor one last hug and imploring that he keep him apprised of the situation as it developed.

Left alone in Hank’s house once more, Connor stood with his forehead pressed to the door for some time after closing it behind his friend, thoughts a rushing, indecisive torrent with which he struggled to keep up. Eventually, though, he straightened and made his way into the hallway and reached up to tug at the string that dangled from the ceiling, then pulled down the ladder that lead up to the attic.

Once there, he spent some time sorting through boxes that hadn’t been moved in a decade or more until, eventually, he found one full of old photo albums and brought it down into the living room.

Connor had never actually seen the contents before, but Hank had mentioned its existence once in a passing conversation, and it was on that memory he had hinged his hopes that he did in fact have pictures of Hank from when he was younger. The android actually had to force himself to take a steadying breath before he was able to reach in and pull out the first of the old, dusty albums before taking a seat on the couch and settling it across his lap. 

The plastic covered pages crackled noisily as he opened it and was met with an array of faces he did not recognize. At least, not until he took closer look at one particular, which Connor’s facial recognition software pointed out was, in fact, Hank if you shaved off at least sixty-five years. 

His father had been gap toothed even at that age, apparently, and grinning broadly into the camera from the arms of a woman Connor belatedly realized was Hank’s mother. He stared at the image for a long minute, fingers tracing absently over the plastic between him and it before his gaze shifted to the next.

The album was the oldest in the pile, and had clearly been put together by Hank’s parents back in the eighties and nineties. Birthdays, family get-togethers, school events, team photos from his time playing basketball… it was all there. Working his way through photo albums from oldest to newest, Connor was able to trace his father’s life through the decades, though the time jumps became larger and larger the further he went.

There were a handful of pictures from when Hank was in his thirties, and it was these Connor carefully extricated from their album and set aside for Kamski’s use. One of them was of his father, grinning and cocky, in his uniform leaning against a cop car, clearly in the early days of his law enforcement career. The image brought a smile to Connor’s own face as he huffed a laugh and set it aside on the pile as well.

He still wasn’t over his doubts on whether or not he was doing the right thing, but the android couldn’t deny the deep seated need he felt to follow through on the path he had chosen. Hank Anderson’s time on Earth had ended so abruptly… wasn’t it his duty as a son to give him the chance to come back and decide for himself whether or not he was ready to check out?


	4. And the end is a new beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, guys 8'D I was going to post it before bed last night and then the site went down *coughs*  
> Anyways, enjoy this final part! Make sure to leave a comment and let me know what your favorite bit was, I really like hearing that from you guys and it gives me the energy I need to keep writing more stuff!

A week and a half later they were done, and Connor was left standing in deep contemplation as he stared down into his father’s face for the first time since his funeral.

They hadn’t activated him yet, meaning the body stretched out on the table by which he stood was just an empty shell ready and waiting for a mind, a  _ person, _ to be poured into it. Somewhere nearby, Elijah Kamski was running through the final necessary checks, deep circles under his eyes from the long night behind them. On the verge of finally completing their vital work, however, not even Chloe had been able to pry him from his laboratory, so she had let him be, though not without an imploring look in Connor’s direction to keep an eye on him.

Without thinking, Connor reached out and brushed a stray curl from his father’s brow and settled it more neatly among its kin. They’d decided to replicate the longer style since it was not only how he’d been wearing it before his death, but back in his mid-to-late thirties as well, which was the age they’d settled on for him in the end.

It felt strange to look into that young face and see not only his father, but the man he’d once been, long before androidkind had even existed. He had the same long features, deep set eyes, and gap-toothed smile. His wild mane of curly brown hair with natural highlights, nary a strand of gray in sight, fell around his face in the same familiar way it always had.

They’d even put him in one of his favorite t-shirts that Connor had brought from home, though he’d had to loan him a pair of his jeans. Hank’s new body was considerably leaner than it had been at the time of his death, but did match the trim, fit build he’d had in his youth, which his son couldn’t help but think he’d enjoy the return of once he’d gotten his head wrapped around, well… being alive again.

Once he’d wrapped his head around being an android.

God, what would he do if Hank couldn’t do that? What if he’d rather die than remain an android? What if his human mind rejected his new synthetic existence? The thought terrified Connor, though he knew there was nothing he could do about it beyond wait and see which way Hank went. He’d committed to this course of action ever since his discussion with Markus at the kitchen table, and he wasn’t going to back out now that they were at the finish line.

Connor just had to accept that what he and Kamski were doing wasn’t bringing Hank back to life so much as giving his father a  _ choice.  _ Whatever he decided, they’d just have to respect it.

“We’re ready,” Kamski said, startling Connor from his silent contemplation of his father’s features.

The android straightened and looked at the man where he sat next to the computer console, a data jack in his outstretched hand. Connor took a deep breath to calm his metaphorical nerves and accepted the jack, then turned back to his father’s body and gently turned his head to one side. He brushed his fingertips over the back of Hank’s neck, banishing the outer skin with a thought and exposing the port in the plastic beneath.

Connor paused before inserting the jack, glancing back at Kamski and asking, “You’re  _ certain  _ that-”

“ _ Yes,  _ Connor,” the man replied with an impatient sigh. “Every factor that can possibly be accounted for has been. We won’t be any more sure of this if we wait another six months, now plug it in or step aside and let me do it,” he said as he got automatically to his feet.

The android held the jack close to his chest to keep Kamski from taking it from him, which was enough for the man to stop, though it wasn’t until Connor waved him back that he retreated a few steps. They had both agreed that it would be best for Connor to be the first thing for Hank to see, to take the lead in easing him back into life while Kamski remained in the background in case something went haywire on the technical side of things.

All excuse for delay gone, Connor took another calming breath, then carefully slotted the data jack into place and watched the monitor as it tracked the upload process. It took a surprisingly short amount of time, and it was with a shaking hand a few minutes later that Connor removed the jack and set it aside before gently straightening Hank’s head once more and brushing his fingers along his father’s temples to activate him at long last.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, then Hank’s hands twitched and Connor felt like half his biocomponents might jump right out of his chest. “Hank?” he said, voice tight with desperation for a reaction. “Hank, can you hear me?”

Hank twitched again, then suddenly gasped and sat bolt upright so fast that he nearly headbutted his son, who had been leaning over him, searching his face for any sign of consciousness. 

Connor jerked back out of the way in time to avoid injury, only to jump forward again just as quickly when his father nearly fell off the table in his confusion. He gripped Hank by the shoulders to steady him, guiding his movements so the man’s long legs dangled off the edge of the table, bare toes brushing the floor as he looked around himself in confusion.

“Hank, I’ve got you, it’s alright,” Connor said, and was immediately gratified when his father not only looked at him with wide, startled blue eyes, but immediately recognized him.

“Connor,” he said, voice so achingly familiar that it brought tears to his son’s eyes. He lifted his hands automatically to grip Connor’s arms as he started to calm and focus on the android in front of him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frown creasing his brow as his son’s distress fully registered with him.

Connor opened his mouth to speak, but a broken sob escaped him instead and he shook his head, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, which only further alarmed Hank, who could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his adopted son so emotional over the years. Hell, probably just the one finger, back when Sumo had finally passed.

“Shh, you’re alright, son, I’ve got you,” Hank soothed as he slid off the table to land on his bare feet and dragged Connor into a hug. Connor, in turn, threw his arms around his father and held him tight as he buried his face in his shoulder and gripped desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go. He’d wanted to be calm so he could explain everything to Hank, ease him back into the world of the living, but here he was crying his eyes out like a child and clinging to his father like a lifeline. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, trying and failing to curb his emotions. “I’m  _ sorry _ .”

Hank tightened his grip on his son, one hand going protectively to the back of his head and the other to Connor’s back. “What for, son? Talk to me, we’ll figure it out,” he said, voice low and insistent, though striving for calm. Seeing the android so worked up didn’t just hurt from the perspective of a father, but terrified him from the perspective of a partner that had been through a bloody revolution and worked any number of horrible murder cases with him and never seen him so affected.

It put him in a defensive frame of mind that made him tighten his hold on Connor and finally take a good look around them over the android’s shoulder. Wherever they were, he didn’t recognize it, which took him from defensive to on edge. How had he gotten there? How had Connor? Last thing he remembered, was-

Hank went still and Connor immediately felt the shift in his posture. It set off internal alarms for the android that helped him finally reign in his own emotional outburst for fear of disturbing his father’s potentially fragile mind. He tried to pull away, but the new android’s grip on him was too tight. “Hank,” he said, voice soothing and calm. “Take a deep breath. I-”

“Connor,” he said, the syllables uncharacteristically unsteady. A tremor rocked him and the former lieutenant pushed away from his son, gaze immediately dropping to his chest, hands frantically patting himself down as if checking for injury.

His torso had been a gory mess, he remembered  _ that,  _ even if it had been through a haze of painkillers. He’d caught a glimpse of himself and started to panic and the EMTs had been forced to put him under so he didn’t make things worse on the way to the hospital…

Unsatisfied with simply touching, Hank dragged his shirt up and a huff of desperate, relieved laughter escaped him when he saw for himself that he was in one piece. After that initial rush, however, his brow furrowed in confusion, one hand touching the center of his chest, and then trailing down the flat plane of his belly. His immediate reaction was to think that it wasn’t  _ his,  _ but then he spied the familiar sight of the little mole on the inside curve of his right hip where it jutted out above the hem of his jeans. Hank’s second thought was that his hips hadn’t properly  _ jutted  _ in years, though to be fair he was pushing seventy-

His hands were all wrong too, the man realized abruptly as he let his shirt drop so he could examine them closer. On doing so, though, he realized, like his chest, his hands weren’t  _ wrong  _ so much as… younger. The long fingers and broad palms, the familiar constellation of freckles and the shape of his knuckles. He even still had that odd little nevus on the inside of his left wrist just below the joint proper.

Hank’s fingers traced up his forearms, stronger than they had been in years, and hairier too, thanks to the effect of aging on the human body. His fingers went to his hair next, which felt normal, if a little thicker, and he pulled one curl down into his line of view so he could get a good look at it. Rather than the familiar silver that had been with him since his early forties, though, it was a rich brown with a hint of gold threaded through it, same as it had been decades before when he’d first joined the force…

His hands went to his face next, and found that he was not only clean shaven, but his skin felt firm, unwrinkled-

“Hank.”

Connor’s familiar voice cut through Hank’s growing confusion and panic, though it wasn’t until the android grabbed him by the wrists that he was able to focus on his son’s face. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Last thing I remember, I was-”

He wasn’t able to finish the sentence himself, so Connor did it for him. “Dying,” he said quietly, brown eyes pained at the word, his cheeks still wet from tears, though fresh ones had yet to fall. Hank stood mute before him, a small shiver the only indication that his statement had registered. Connor shifted his grip from his father’s wrists, down to his hands, holding them firmly in his own in hopes of anchoring the man there with him before he could fly apart that the seams. “It was a freak accident,” the android pressed on after a moment. “A fire hydrant had a critical failure and you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time-”

“Story of my life,” Hank replied automatically with a huff as the sharp edges of his panic started to dull in the face of his son’s familiar, soothing voice. 

Connor was forced to press his lips together into a thin line to maintain his control as Hank’s casual, self deprecating humor cut him to the quick with its familiarity. “Yeah,” he managed to say after a moment’s struggle, eyes brightening with the threat of tears before he hurried on, “One of the caps came off under pressure and hit you, completely caving in your chest cavity. They got  you to the hospital, but there was nothing… nothing they could do.”

Connor’s expression went distant, and Hank recognized one of his son’s emotional coping mechanisms when he saw it, though he was struggling to cope with what he was being told himself. He shifted his hands in Connor’s grip so he was able to hold them in turn as he took a deep breath and spoke the words he’d been fighting to wrap his mind around since waking. “I died.”

His son’s jaw tightened convulsively in an attempt to keep himself under control, and Hank knew he’d hit the nail on the head. Connor’s lips twitched, on the verge of breaking down again, and his father wanted to comfort him, he did, but the revelation was too much to allow him to do anything but remain rooted in place, frozen as he tried to comprehend this fact.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment; Hank trying to process, and Connor waiting with bated breath to see if the revelation would break his father.

“How? How am I here now?” Hank finally managed to croak, his eyes searching Connor’s when he was able to focus again, though he was still reeling.

The android opened his mouth to answer, but someone else did so in his stead. “That would be on me.”

Hank’s head snapped around as he registered a third person in the room for the first time, eyebrows immediately shooting up as he recognized Elijah Kamski, then snapping right back down again into a frown. “What are you talking about?” he asked, releasing his hold on Connor’s hands and turning to face the man head on, watching as he moved closer while keeping the table between the two of them.

Kamski ignored his question, and instead looked at Connor, who seemed to take some meaning from this and turned to face Hank. Without saying anything, his son lifted his right hand, which bled white as his outer skin faded, leaving the plastic underneath visible to the wrist. Hank blinked, and after a moment, got the hint and lifted his left to match, then waved it a little, feeling awkward. “Uh, hey,” he said, then shut his mouth with a click when Connor brought their palms together and the white of his hand bled across into Hank’s.

He watched, wide-eyed and frozen as the influx of white spread from his palm, to the back of his hand, and all the way down to his elbow. After a moment, he sucked in a breath and snatched his hand away from Connor’s and looked at it closely, a fine tremor rocking him as he did so. The plastic, jointed fingers flexed and moved at his command as naturally as ever, and when he looked at his right hand, he saw that his skin had faded there as well. Feeling on the verge of panic, Hank tugged up his shirt again and found the same plastic on his torso and spreading down his bare feet past the hem of his jeans.

A low, distressed sound escaped him, and he flinched back when Connor reached for him again. The pained look on his son’s face was enough to give him pause, however. “Dad, please, I can explain,” Connor said, voice soft and imploring, hand outstretched, waiting for his father to reach for  _ him _ this time. After a moment’s hesitation, Hank forced himself to take a breath and took Connor’s hand again, and to his relief, his skin returned everywhere but the palm of his hand.

“Don’t overdo it,” Kamski warned, making Hank frown in his direction again. “He’s not used to communicating the way androids do. Keep it simple.”

Connor only nodded, his attention still on his father as he compiled a simplified version of events that would be less likely to overwhelm Hank with raw data. He had the hardware to handle it, of course, but his mind was still thinking like a human’s, and might reject the kind of information sharing the likes of which he had done with Markus that day in the kitchen. “Just relax and let it flow,” he warned Hank.

“Let what-” the new android said, brow furrowed in confusion until suddenly he  _ knew  _ what had been happening, what had been done to bring him back, Connor’s deal with Kamski…

It was a headrush, having that kind of data downloaded straight into your brain. It was so much deeper than what he’d experienced with the NND, and yet, according to Connor, this was ‘taking it easy’.

Hank didn’t have long to be impressed, however, as the full implication of the information he’d been given settled in and hit him full force.

He was an android.

The thought set Hank’s emotion to riot; horror, doubt, and fear at the nature of this new existence of his ( _ was  _ he even him anymore?) all vied for dominance... Running counter to his growing distress, however, was relief in being granted a second chance, joy at seeing his son again... it made for a confusing mix that would have given him a headache if he'd still been human.

Something moved in his periphery and Hank's gaze locked onto Kamski as he turned to regard one of the monitors nearby, seeming interested in something it was relaying. He appeared unbothered by the drama playing out in his lab, and for some reason his casual air cut through the confusion in Hank's mind to unleash something new.

Anger.

“You  _ son of a bitch, _ ” Hank said as he rounded on the human, who looked at him, one eyebrow going up in surprise at the sudden venom directed at him. He didn't retreat when Hank began to advance on him, but his hand did slide into his pant’s pocket. Whatever he kept there remained hidden for the time being as Connor deftly vaulted the table and placed himself between the two men. “You just had to play god, didn't you? Creating androids wasn't enough, you had to go fuck around with the natural order of things just so  _ you  _ can be immortal, huh?!” Hank demanded, barely even noting his son’s appearance between him and the subject of his ire.

Connor's hands went to Hank's arms, but holding him back was no easy task, and he was forced to lean against him, arms around his father's torso as he put his shoulder into his chest before he came to a stop. “Hank, please, calm down!”

“The hell I will!” Hank snapped. “This jackass decided to play Frankenstein, so now he gets to deal with Frankenstein's monster,” the man growled, then took Connor completely off guard by wrapping his longer arms around his son's waist in turn, and lifting him up and around. A small sound of surprise escaped the police captain as he felt his feet leaving the ground, then briefly found himself looking at Kamski upside down, unable to do a thing as his lower back hit his father's shoulder. Hank released and pushed Connor’s shoulders up, rolling him off his back effortlessly so Connor landed in a confused crouch behind him, having done a full 360, blinking rapidly as he tried to process what had just happened.

In the meantime, Hank advanced on Kamski, who had been watching their tussle with great interest. “In retrospect,” the genius mused, “the enhanced strength might have been an oversight on my part.”

“No shit,” Hank grumbled, features drawn down into a terrible scowl. “You fucked with the laws of nature, now you get to pay for it.”

“The laws of nature?” Kamski scoffed as he quickly put a bay of monitors between himself and the formidable android advancing menacingly towards him. “Is that what you’re so upset about? You believe I’ve made you some sort of crime against nature?”

“What else would you call raising someone from the dead weeks after their funeral! It’s not  _ natural,  _ Kamski!”

A bark of laughter escaped the billionaire as he squeezed between two machines too narrowly placed for Hank to navigate, forcing him to go around. The former lieutenant scowled when he found Connor blocking his way again.

“Cut it out, Connor, let me handle this,” he told his son, but the android shook his head and refused to budge.

“Just calm down and think for a moment, Hank. Kamski-”

A growl of frustration escaped Hank, and once again he managed to take Connor by surprise when he reached forward, grabbed him by the shoulders, and simply lifted him out of the way. He set him down firmly, though not unkindly, and quickly kept moving, leaving his son blinking in confusion once again.

Connor hadn’t thought to check the physical capabilities of the new body Kamski had built for his father… apparently that had been a mistake. In his defense, he’d been far more concerned with Hank’s mind and how it would make the transition into its new home.

Movement in the distance caught Hank’s attention and he spotted Kamski hurrying up a distant set of stairs. The new android set off at a run across the lab, vaulting equipment with a speed and grace that would have shocked him had he been in a frame of mind to appreciate it. At the moment, however, his only thought was for laying hands on Kamski. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he managed to do that, but he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

He emerged in what looked to be some sort of fancy sitting room, which Elijah was only halfway across thanks to Hank’s far greater speed and longer legs. The android grinned wolfishly to himself, knowing there was no way the man would be able to get to the door before he could jump over the nearest sofa and-

A solid weight cannoned him from behind and knocked him face down into the carpet. Before he could get his arms under him and turn over, Hank felt hands on his temples and an invasive…  _ other  _ he didn’t quite have the vocabulary for yet raced through his head into his system and deactivated something before withdrawing just as quickly.

The weight removed itself from his back, and as Hank pushed up on his hands, he saw Connor’s legs come around into view. “Goddammit, Connor-” he snapped irritably and tried to get up, only to find that his legs didn’t work. “What the fuck?” he demanded, trying and failing to get anything below his waist to move.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor said with a tired sigh as he took hold of one of his father’s shoulders and rolled him over onto his back, pulling away quickly before Hank could grab his wrist. “But you need to listen. You can have your legs back when you’ve heard Mr. Kamski and I out.”

“I’m sorry, but did you just ground me from  _ my fucking legs? _ ” Hank demanded, outraged as he watched Connor walk around to his feet, grab him by the ankles, then proceed to drag him across the carpet to the front of the nearest sofa.

“Basically,” Kamski mused as he dropped onto the other sofa and lounged gracefully across the cushions as he watched the show. “I saw fit to give Connor administrator privileges to your system in case of emergency while you’re still learning to navigate in your new body.” The man arched a brow as Hank scowled up at him from where he was sprawled on the floor before turning his attention to Connor. “You could have done that sooner and saved me the run.”

“I was hoping he’d listen,” the android said with a sigh, earning him a betrayed look from his father as he helped him up onto the sofa proper. “Don’t give me that look,” he chided Hank with a frown of his own. “You were letting your prejudices cloud your reasoning. We both owe Kamski a great deal, the least you can do is hear him out.”

“I don’t owe that asshole shit,” Hank snapped grumpily as he grabbed the back of the sofa to straighten himself a little as Connor settled in next to him. Secure once more, the new android jabbed a finger in the human’s direction. “He took advantage of your weakness in a time of  _ grief _ for his own gains-” he began, getting fired up for a lecture when Connor unexpectedly cut him off.

“I  _ know,  _ Hank!” the android said, clearly exasperated, the vehemence of his words surprising his father. “I’m not a fool, and neither is Kamski; he saw his opportunity to fulfill his wish and he grabbed it, manipulating me emotionally so I would go along with him more easily than I might have if he’d given me time to grieve properly first.”

Hank stared at Connor, taken aback at his son’s blase attitude towards being used by the billionaire across from them.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Connor cut him off again with a wave of a hand. “What does it matter? I wanted my father back and Kamski was able to give me that; what do I care if he happens to get what he wants out of it as well?” His dark eyed gaze was steady as he regarded his father, whose anger flooded out of him all at once in the face of Connor’s words. 

How was he supposed to carry on being mad when the kid pulled out lines like that? He’d wanted his dad back? Shit, could he honestly say he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if it had been possible when Cole had died?

A long, heavy sigh escaped Hank as he reached up and ruffled Connor’s hair affectionately, then shifted his hand to the opposite side of his son’s head and pulled him over and down so he could land a brief kiss on the crown of his head before pushing him lightly away again.

“Alright,” he groused. “Alright, I get it.” A relieved smile pulled at Connor’s mouth even as he reached up and neatened his hair automatically, but didn’t get a chance to say anything on the matter before his father added, “But I still think it’s some sort of crime against nature.”

Connor frowned, more out of concern than disappointment as he looked at Hank, but Kamski only rolled his eyes. 

“Dying before forty-five  _ also  _ used to be natural, Hank,” the man drawled, “But no one seems bothered that the average American lifespan is now double that. Cholera, malaria, smallpox, bubonic plague,” Kamski counted each example off on a finger as he listed it, “I could go on for days. All of those things are  _ natural,  _ as in they ‘come from nature’, and yet we vaccinate our children. We sanitize our water. We sanitize our hospitals.” He lifted his chin in challenge at Hank, “Don’t try and give me the ‘it’s unnatural’ argument, Lieutenant.”

“None of that’s the same as aging and you know it,” Hank countered with a scowl. “It’s a natural process-”

“Is it?” Kamski asked with a sour smile. “Or is it just another degenerative disease to be eradicated like all the others?” Hank opened his mouth to argue, but the other man waved an impatient hand for silence and continued, “Face it, Hank, humanity has long since moved out of the grasp of nature; we have mastered it too thoroughly for it to have any real hold on us in this day and age, aside from the occasional exciting new disease or virus.” He snorted. “Do you think we’re going to evolve any further without outside help? Natural selection is dead in our species thanks to modern medicine. Transcending biology altogether and ascending into the realm of the synthetic is the logical next step.”

“You’re insane!” Hank said, throwing his hands in the air and nearly toppling to one side as a result. Connor’s steadying grip on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him upright, earning him a brief, grateful look from his father before he rounded on Kamski again and continued, “What is life without death? Death gives life its meaning; it’s fleeting and beautiful which is why you have to appreciate it while you have it!”

A bitter bark of laughter escaped Kamski. “If I had a dollar for every time someone bleated that same sad platitude, I’d be just as rich as I am now without all the effort of having founded a company,” he said with a sneer. He could see his opponent readying to fire a comeback, however, and before he could, he asked, “Did death somehow make  _ your son’s _ life more meaningful?” voice gone smooth as silk but sharp like a dagger as his words slid up through Hank’s ribs and right into his synthetic heart.

“Kamski,” Connor warned sharply with a frown. The look his father gave the other man in that moment was downright murderous.

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Did it?” Kamski pressed, unbothered as he picked at his nails absently. “Was Cole’s life somehow more  _ meaningful  _ for its brevity? More meaningful than if he’d grown up, gotten a job, met someone nice, maybe given you some grandchildren? Had a chance to know his adopted brother?” Hank’s hands had tightened into fists, his mouth pressed into a thin, white line as he glared across the coffee table at their host. Kamski leaned forward, a thin, humorless smile on his face, pale gray eyes intense as he asked, “Can you really say you wouldn’t have done for Cole what Connor did for you, had it been possible?”

Hank tried to stare him down, but couldn’t, and after a moment, dropped his gaze, unable to deny it, not when he’d been thinking exactly that a minute before.

Kamski’s smile deepened somewhat in his satisfaction again as he sat back and pulled one ankle up to rest on his knee. “So you see,” he said to Connor, quite matter-of-factly, “What we have here is less a case of your father truly believing what was done to him was ‘unnatural’, and more a case of survivor’s guilt.” Connor’s eyebrows lifted fractionally before he turned his gaze to Hank, who would not meet his eyes as Kamski continued, “What’s good enough for the son is too good for the father, it would seem.”

“Hank,” Connor said, voice gentle, hand going to his father’s shoulder in hopes of drawing his attention once more.

“That’s not my only issue, smartass,” the new android said eventually, voice a low growl in his chest as he looked up at him from under heavy brows.

Kamski arched one brow and gestured for him to continue. “By all means, enlighten us.”

Hank was quiet for a long minute as his gaze dropped to his hands where he’d allowed them to settle in his lap. He turned the left one over and brushed the fingers of his right absently over the small mark on the inside of his wrist. “What if I’m… not the real Hank Anderson,” he said eventually, words slow and labored. “What if I’m just a copy and the real him, me, what the fuck ever, is rotting in a box in the ground?”

Connor went still beside him, the confusion in his father’s voice like a knife to the heart. “Hank,” he said, turning so he sat almost sideways on the sofa. “That’s not what this is, that’s not what you  _ are, _ ” he said, voice low and emphatic, wishing the man would look at him, but unable to catch his gaze. “You  _ are  _ Hank Anderson, my father,” he said, wanting more than anything to hug the man, but his closed off posture made it impossible.

“But what if I’m not?” Hank insisted quietly as his hands started to shake, the possibility beginning to eat at him. He hadn’t dissociated for years leading up to his death, but he felt dangerously close to doing so now. What if he was an imposter wearing the trappings of Hank Anderson? Leading his son on, taking over the life he’d left behind, carrying his memories…

Kamski sighed and got to his feet, then walked across the room to the drinks cart by the window. As he dropped a large ice cube into a glass, he asked, “If Connor were hit by a truck tomorrow, and his body was so badly damaged that we were forced to transfer his consciousness into a new one, would that new android still be your son?”

The question managed to pierce the fog threatening to cloud Hank’s mind and he finally looked up. “What?” he asked, uncomprehending.

The tech genius poured a generous helping of whiskey over the ice, then carried the glass back across the room. “Would you mourn the body destroyed by the truck, or embrace the new one that the mind within it had taken up new residence in?”

Kamski offered Hank the glass, shaking it a little when the android hesitated to take it. After a moment, his long fingers curled around the offering and he proceeded to take a long drink. Connor watched for a moment, then glanced up at Elijah, realizing he’d taken advantage of Hank’s lingering attachment to human habits in a bid to calm him. He’d always found some comfort in a drink, after all, especially whiskey.

It seemed to do the trick as, after he’d swallowed, Hank took a steadying breath and leaned back in his seat a little.

“Of course he’d still be Connor,” Hank said and glanced sidelong at his son, mouth quirking up a little in a ghost of a reassuring smile which his son readily returned. “But it’s not the same. Connor’s been an android since day one, he was  _ made  _ to do that kind of thing. But humans…  _ me…  _ I don’t know.”

Kamski resumed his seat across from them once more and thought for a moment before speaking. “When we boil it down to its essence, Connor’s personality, all his memories, everything that makes him  _ him _ , is ones and zeroes,” he said, picking absently at a stray thread on the seam of his pants. “You, me, and every other human on the planet can be boiled down to a very particular arrangement of chemicals. All I did was figure out how to translate chemicals,” here he held up one hand, “into ones and zeroes.” He lifted the other, then let them both drop. “You are everything Hank Anderson ever was. You are all that there  _ is.  _ Your memories, your thought processes, your love for your son… They are the same they ever were because you  _ are  _ Hank Anderson. All you did was migrate from one body destroyed by a terrible accident, into a new one, same as your son is capable of doing.”

Silence settled over the room for some time as Connor waited to see how his father would process this explanation while the new android stared off into the middle distance. 

Eventually, Hank remembered that he had a drink in his hand and finished it off, then leaned forward to place the glass on the coffee table and nearly toppled over in the process as his legs failed to engage to help him straighten back up.

Connor immediately grabbed him and a huff of amusement escaped his father before he asked, “Don’t suppose I can get my legs back?” His son hesitated and Hank rolled his eyes a little and said, “I’m not gonna make a grab for him, scout’s honor,” holding up three fingers in a mock salute.

“Hank, you were never a boy scout,” Connor replied, amusement curling his lips.

“Yeah alright, fair,” the new android said. “I just… I need to take a walk. Think for a bit,” he said, tone serious as he finally met his son’s eyes once more.

After a moment’s consideration, Connor nodded, then reached out with one hand and pressed his fingers to his father’s temple, restoring his legs’ functionality.

“Oh thank Christ,” Hank groaned as he stretched, then got to his feet.

“Don’t go far,” Connor said as he looked up at his father, expression imploring rather than commanding.

“I won’t,” Hank replied, then ruffled his hair affectionately. As he passed Kamski, he asked, “Got a back door around here?”

“Down the hall to the left,” the man answered as he too got to his feet, though did not follow immediately after the android. When Hank had gone, he glanced back at Connor and said, “Don’t let him leave the property. I’m going to bed.”

Connor nodded and watched Kamski go, then got up and walked towards the floor to ceiling windows and looked out towards the river. He could see Hank walking towards the water at a slow, measured pace, and the android experienced a moment of anxiety as he considered the idea that he might throw himself into the river and let himself be carried away…

He didn’t, though. Rather, Hank stopped at the water’s edge and stared out across its gray surface for a long minute before stooping to pick up a rock from by his feet. He weighed it absently in his hand, then gave it a deft throw out across the water and watched as it skipped several times across the waves before sinking out of sight.

* * *

Outside, the day was overcast and cool with a breeze rolling in over the river from Canada, but occasionally the sun would peek through the clouds to dapple the steel gray surface of the water before disappearing again.

Hank had been outside for the better part of two hours now, though he had long since given up throwing stones in favor of sitting on a particularly large rock, one knee pulled up to his chest as he stared out at the water.

Well, at the moment he was staring down at his foot and wondering if he’d always had that scattering of find hairs across the knuckles of his toes. His other foot dangled in the cold river water where it pooled along the shore before continuing on its way. The soft rush of its flow across the rocks was a soothing form of white noise for the android as he pondered the nature of his new reality.

Mostly he’d been thinking himself in circles, and honestly he felt nothing but relief when the sound of footsteps approaching from the house finally reached his ears. He didn’t have to look around to know that it was Connor approaching, somehow; probably something to do with the fact that they were both androids now. He just knew.

When the footsteps were still a few yards off, they stopped and there was the sound of shuffling, followed by the continuation of the steps, though quieter than before.

Connor stepped onto the rock beside his father, and Hank glanced at him, smiling when he saw that he had also taken off his shoes. He shifted to the side as far as he could on the relatively narrow surface to allow his son to sit beside him, though it was a squeeze. Their hips and shoulders wound up pressed flush together, but neither of them minded. If anything, they both found the physical contact comforting as Connor rolled up his pant legs then let his feet drop into the water.

“That’s  _ cold, _ ” he hissed, a shiver racing up his spine at the sudden shift in temperature. When the tremors threatened to continue, Connor adjusted his temperature sensitivity until the cold faded into something more tolerable.

Watching his son sidelong, Hank could see the moment the cold no longer bothered him, and he asked, “How’d you do that?”

Connor looked at him, eyes widening fractionally as he glanced down at his father’s feet where they dangled in the water, and back to his face. “You haven’t already?”

“No,” he remarked with a huff, “Just got used to the cold.”

“Let me show you,” he said, then raised a hand, outer skin retreating from his fingers, though he stopped short of actually touching Hank’s temple in a silent request for permission.

Realizing what his son was doing, Hank tilted his head to one side, bringing them into contact, and closed his eyes as he tried to focus on what Connor was actually  _ doing.  _

It wasn’t easy to track, though his son moved slowly through the process. It was like learning to flex a muscle you’d never known you’d had before; or, in Hank’s case, that he’d never had at all. The cold dropped away, though, and the new android glanced down at his feet where they still rested in the gently shifting waters as though to double check that they were, in fact, still submerged.

“Handy,” he mused, kicking his legs idly.

“Just don’t forget that you’ll still be physically affected by the cold,” Connor warned. “You just won’t feel the side effects when you start to freeze to death.” Hank snorted and a smile pulled at the corners of his son’s mouth. “Do you understand how I did it?”

“I think so,” Hank said after a moment’s consideration. “It’s gonna… take some getting used to,” he admitted, brow furrowing absently as he stared out across the water. “It’s a totally different way of thinking.”

Connor nodded and together they lapsed into a silence that, while companionable, bore a certain weight that hung over them both.

Eventually, Connor forced himself to take a steadying breath, and in a carefully neutral tone that did not at all reflect the turmoil in his mind, asked, “You do want to, though?” Hank turned to look at him, one brow lifted in silent question. His son averted his gaze to their feet, unable to meet his eyes as he clarified, “Get used to it, I mean. Get used to thinking like an android. To being one.”

Hank’s eyes widened as he realized what his son was asking him.

He wanted to know if he was going to commit to this new life, or…not.

“I told myself I’d respect your choice, whatever it was,” Connor continued quickly, gaze still locked on the water at their feet. “But I-” his voice failed him then and all the fear he’d been struggling with over the past two hours as he watched his father pace up and down the shore of the river from the sitting room window broke free of his tight laced control at once. “But I really want you to  _ stay _ ,” he said, voice barely a whisper as he leaned more heavily against Hank’s side and dropped his head to rest on his shoulder, a few stray tears breaking free to roll down his cheeks. “I know it’s selfish,” Connor continued, brushing fitfully at his eyes. “I’m a terrible son for bringing you back to give you a  _ choice  _ on whether or not you even want a second chance at life, and then asking you to stay regardless, but-” a muffled sob shook his shoulders and he gasped a breath and forced himself to finish, “-but I don’t want to lose you again, dad.  _ Please. _ ”

Tears flowed freely down Hank’s cheeks in tandem with his son’s in spite of his attempt to stifle them with a hand over his eyes as Connor spoke. “God, you little idiot,” he rasped weakly as first one arm went around his son, and then the other as he twisted them both around, their legs winding up in a tangle between them when he drew Connor in against his chest. “Of  _ course  _ I’m fucking staying. Like I could leave you again,” he said, one hand rubbing his son’s back while the other curled at the nape of his neck.

Connor clung to him, face buried in Hank’s shoulder, tears rapidly soaking the man’s shirt, though his own didn’t fare much better at his father’s tender mercies. 

They remained like that for some time, but eventually, the tears slowed and they gradually disentangled themselves. As they did so, a weak chuckle escaped Hank and he said, “Who else is gonna keep you out of trouble?” as he wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt.

Connor leveled a skeptical look at his father as the clouds shifted overhead, allowing the sunshine through in earnest, casting them both in a warm, golden glow. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why, do you know someone?”

“Smartass,” Hank said and broke out into laughter, his first  _ real  _ laugh since waking up. The sound of it brought a wide, honest smile to his son’s face, though it quickly turned into a look of deep offense when Hank bent over and swept his hand through the water, splashing Connor.

“Dad!” he objected loudly, but Hank only laughed, so he retaliated in kind, making his father shout and attempt to jump away. The rock they’d been seated on had become quite slick, though, so instead, he tumbled down into the waist deep water, completely submerging himself. 

Connor sat, frozen in horror at what he had done, and was caught completely off guard when Hank surged up out of the water and proceeded to drag his son in with him. A startled yelp escaped the android a second before he hit the water, and they both emerged a moment later laughing and gasping.

“I cannot  _ believe  _ you would actually dunk your old man in dirty river water the same day he literally came back from the dead,” Hank said, voice mock stern as they waded out of the water and up onto the rocky shore. “The fucking  _ gall. _ ”

“Oh shut up, you started it,” Connor retorted and shoved his father lightly, making him chuckle and sway mid-step with the force of it.

They came to a stop safely away from the water, then turned back to look at it once more while Hank did his best to wring out his shirt and Connor pushed his dripping hair back out of his face. His father gave his own wild curls a hearty shake, splashing droplets across his son, who made a sound of complaint and put up an arm in a half-hearted attempt to ward off the worst of it.

Hank flashed him a mischievous grin and Connor rolled his eyes, then asked, “Well, what now?”

“Getting dry would probably be a good idea,” his father mused as they turned and started walking back towards Kamski’s house. Chloe was waiting for them up on the veranda, but neither man was in a particular hurry to reach her, and she didn’t appear particularly impatient.

Connor nodded his agreement, “And after that?”

Hank made a thoughtful sound as the breeze picked up briefly and pushed a few stray curls of hair across his brow. He brushed them back into place as he turned and grinned at his son and answered, “Dunno. But for once, seems like we’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out, huh?” as he slung an arm around Connor’s shoulder and dragged him in against his side.

Beaming happily, Connor fell easily into step with his father and remarked, “It does, doesn’t it?” He took a deep breath of the warm spring air, peace settling over him like a mantle. “Let’s take it easy. Figure it out as we go, for once.”

His father chuckled and shot him one of his crooked grins as he gave him a squeeze and said, “Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
